Everyone knows the Howrah Bridge of Kolkata. Not many people, not even Kolkatans barring a few, might know that there are two unique functioning swing bridges in Kolkata, leading in to the Kolkata Port.

The first one is quite close to our house, hardly 700 mtrs as the crow flies. The bridge is not attached to the road it serves, the road that leads to the venerable Bengal Nagpur Railway headquarters. It pivots on a horizontal platform constructed in the middle of the waterway. When ships are to pass into the port from the river or out from the port, it swings away from the two shores coming to rest along the length of the platform, allowing river traffic to pass on both its sides. When there are no ships to pass, the bridge swings on its pivot to almost touch both sides of the waterway, allowing road traffic to run across it. It is worth seeing.

Now, my purpose is not to share sight-seeing nuggets of Kolkata with you (although that can be quite an engaging pursuit on its own, especially given where I live on the very periphery of this fair city), but to share something more interesting.

The other Sunday, I woke up my 13-year daughter, who has recently developed an interest in photography, at around 7AM. "Hey, chalo, let's go, it's still the golden hour, let us get some beautiful photos." Half-an-hour later we were at the swing bridge I just told you about. "How many of your friends have seen something like this?" I asked.

None of her friends, nor she, had seen anything like this before. The entrance to a port, ships looming large nearby, tall cranes and a bridge that swings open and close, on a clear-skied morning when the low slanting rays of the winter sun were still a mild ember. A budding photographer's delight.

"Hey! Kaun hai? Wahan nahin jaana! Hato wahan se!" came a voice as my daughter leaned a tiny wee bit from the side of the bridge to get a better frame. I looked around. It was the CISF jawaan guarding the bridge, calling from the side of the river. I gestured to him with folded hands that everything is alright, I am there to take care of her. He relented.

Still, I ambled across to where he was to engage him in conversation, so that my daughter could continue with her photography unhindered. Fair skinned, tall, he did not appear to be Bengali. "Namaste, Sir," I said, "Kahaan se hain aap?" He drew his height another half an inch. "Jammu se."

My eyebrows went up, significantly more than Jeeves' ever do. This was interesting. His name was Balbir Singh from Jammu, posted to Kolkata Port Trust for the last four years. The conversation naturally covered the situation in J&K after Article 370, and how he might be missing his paradise on earth and how it might be difficult to for him to bear the sweaty summers of steamy Kolkata.

"Aap kya karte hain?" He asked. "Mera Finance ka kaam hai," I offered, not sure how to explain currency forecasting and hedging to a CISF jawaan guarding a swing bridge at a port. "Finance mein hain toh aap shares ke baare mein jaante hain?" he asked.

This was intriguing! "Haan, jaanta hoon," with the ill-concealed pride of an andhon mein kaana raja.

"Main intra day trading karta hoon," he said and went on to tell me how he trades 300 lots of Nifty and Bank Nifty and makes money in the first 15 minutes of opening and on expiry day, by following a few candlesticks.

My eyes and ears popped at the incongruity of it all. I pictured this burly Jat from Jammu sitting on his rickety chair by the port inlet, guarding an unknown swing bridge, trading in-and-out on his phone on Zerodha, while shooing off budding photographers. "Aapke paise bante hain?" I blurted, smugly thinking the guy must surely be deep in the red.

He looked at me intently for a while and then said, "Aap yeh keh sakte hain ki paise khotey nahin hain. Aur aap kaise trade karte hain?"

"Main long term karta hoon," I replied lamely, feeling like a babe in the woods, at the same time marveling at the growing Equity Cult in India, recalling the data on all new demat accounts opened in the last couple of years. Who needs the FPIs? We have our CISF jawans defending our Indices now!

"Main aaoonga aap ke paas, long-term seekhne ke liye," he said, all eagerness to learn a new skill. I was dumbstruck.

"Aur aap Jammu aaiyga," he continued, "kam se kam aath din ka samay le ke. Aap jab jaayenge, main bhi chhuti le loonga. Aur Jammu-Kashmir aapko aisa ghumaoonga, kam paise mein, ki aur koi aapko kya ghumayega," proudly conjuring visions of valleys with deep carpets of lush green grass and crisp blue skies with tufts of white clouds slowly drifting towards snow clad mountains in the distance. I found myself salivating at the prospect. I have never been to Heaven on Earth yet.

An incongruous Sunday morning indeed.